


Little Robbie

by klose, Silencing



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily shenanigans, Chippendale!Dick, Identity Porn, M/M, Pole Dancing, Sexy Times, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:05:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klose/pseuds/klose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silencing/pseuds/Silencing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick has a sexy little present for Bruce’s birthday, courtesy of the Bat-poles and some other props…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Robbie

**Author's Note:**

> We’d gotten a ways into this silly idea thanks to some random thing I (klose) saw on TV and had to tell silencing about (because CHIPPENDALE!DICK OK) before we remembered [this art](http://fyeahdickgrayson.tumblr.com/post/61354614559/kaciart-bean-asked-for-some-chippendale)... which provided more motivation. XD

* * *

 

It was Bruce’s birthday, not that it stopped the man from spending his afternoon working on a case. With Bruce, it was pretty much standard operating procedure. Alfred had given up on trying to tell him to take a break, not even with a birthday cake on the way, but Dick was nothing if not persistent — and of the firm opinion that it was his job and duty as boyfriend and partner.

When Dick found him in the Cave, Bruce was studying schematics by the smaller consoles. Dick snuck up from behind and wrapped his arms around the larger man, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Happy birthday, Bruce.”

Bruce only grunted in reply, but Dick was not daunted. Pulling back, he adjusted the chair — thankfully a swivel — so that Bruce faced him. 

"Dick," Bruce said slowly, raising an eyebrow, but otherwise not stopping him.

Dick climbed onto his lap, smiling. ”I know you don’t care much for birthdays.” He wiggled his hips a little. “Guess you’re afraid turning into an old man, huh?”

He was teasing, but it was enough to provoke Bruce, whose hands came up to grip his ass tightly. “Hardly.”

Dick wiggled again. “Not feeling much hardness here, boss, sorry,” he laughed.

That got him a growl — and Bruce trying to pull him down for what would no doubt have been a punishing, ravenous kiss if Dick hadn’t evaded it, and gracefully pulled out of Bruce’s lap.

"Not so fast, big boy," he said with a smirk, backing away, one hand reaching up to undo the topmost button of his shirt.

"Can’t this wait?" Bruce said, though his eyes never left Dick’s body, and he’d already forgotten what he was doing before.

"Do you  _want_  it to?” Dick asked with a wink, making for the second button, swaying slowly back across the Cave floor.  Bruce rose to follow him, but every step forward just had Dick moving back, like he was luring him somewhere.

"This isn’t the way to the bedroom," Bruce noted after another failed grab.

"You figured that one out all on your own, good job," Dick grinned, sticking his tongue out at Bruce’s noise of protest. "Don’t get ahead of yourself, tiger, I’m still dressed here."

Even as he said that, though, a third button came undone, revealing a sizable portion of his bare chest. As he moved on to the next button, his back came into contact with a tall, slender object — one of the Bat poles. As he’d intended all along.

His mouth curved up into a devious grin, and he wriggled his hips again, this time even more suggestively than before. He didn’t have to be too close to see the other man’s eyes widen. Hell, he didn’t even need to be facing Bruce. Deftly turning to kiss the pole, he rolled his hips in a long, drawn out ripple.

Wearing his tightest pair of black jeans had definitely been a good call, if the choked noise behind him meant anything.

Dick continued the little rolls and hip thrusts, moving slowly and gracefully to a rhythm in his head. His hands continued their deft work, and it wasn't long before his shirt ended up on the floor.

Bruce settled into a suspiciously convenient chair and wasn’t able to resist giving himself a squeeze through his pants the next time Dick turned to face him. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath, though Dick still stayed frustratingly out of reach.

"Looking a little impatient there, mister," Dick said, prowling forward, but still outside of Bruce’s grabbing radius. "The show’s only just started."  

He eased his hands into his pockets and turned away from Bruce, bending with a graceful arch of his spine. Bruce growled and leaned forward himself, fingers twitching on the chair arms.

When Dick straightened up again it was with something white and silky in his hand — a black bow-tie on a detached shirt collar. He brought the material to his throat and sighed in pleasure, hips still swaying, his free hand wandering the length of his own body. He carefully avoided looking directly at Bruce — teasing him was difficult when Dick wanted nothing more than to climb back into his lap, and to hell with the show.

He had to settle for imagining that it was Bruce’s hand brushing over one nipple and then tweaking the other. Bruce’s hand ghosting over his abs and dipping briefly into his jeans. Dick didn’t bother biting back his moan, and even if being a cape most of his life had trained his multi-tasking skills, it took him a while to get the collar fastened.

And then to pull out the matching white cuffs from his other pocket. Leaning back on the pole, and raising his arms up above his head, wrists entwining to clasp the cuffs, he let his eyes drift closed. He knew he looked good, undulating over the tall, slender metal; knew that Bruce would be intently focusing on every curve and pulse of his skin and muscle.

Bruce’s breathing grew heavy, as did his own, drowning out the Cave’s ambient noise. That he was doing this here in this dark, secret place, with the Bat-suit just a few feet away, only added to Dick’s own excitement.

And Bruce’s too — there was no mistaking the similarity of Dick’s tease to the way he moved in the field. He was the very embodiment of grace, every nerve and muscle perfectly coordinated — that sort of analytic scrutiny shouldn’t have made Bruce’s heart race, but it did.

"So I hear it’s someone’s birthday," Dick murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of water and machines.  With the cuffs and collar on, the show could start in earnest. "Lucky boy."

Bruce watched Dick work the pole with mingled fascination and hunger. Even with the tight jeans restricting mobility in his legs, he was impossibly flexible, and incredibly strong; supporting himself with his arms as he twisted against the cold metal, wrapping a long leg around the pole and moving against it like it was a lover.

"Dick."  Bruce was startled by the sound of his own voice, hoarse and rough. He shouldn’t have been, though, not with how tight his slacks had grown, with heat suffusing every nerve. 

"Awfully forward of you, darlin’," Dick purred, coming forward again. "Articulate, too.  But, little Robbie has that effect on people."

Bruce choked a little at that, and it took every ounce of willpower not to jump up out of the chair and show him exactly the kind of effect “little Robbie” had on him. He wanted to drag the younger man flush against him, one hand gripping his firm ass while the other clutched at his soft, silky hair, wanted to drown him with punishing kisses all over his mouth and neck, wanted to —

Dick licked his lips and pressed them into a wicked smile. “Patience is a virtue, birthday boy.” Twirling a quick spin around the pole, he easily used his thighs to keep himself on the metal and off the ground, arching his back in a perfect crescent as he came to a stop.

Bruce forced his body to relax, lounging indolently in his chair, thighs spread and fingers stroking the chair arms like they wanted to be touching something else entirely.

A little of Brucie crept into his tone — silk over Batman’s rumbling thunder. “If that’s true,” he said, “I’m the most virtuous man alive.”

 If that was how Dick wanted it, well — two could play that game.

The shift had the desired effect on Dick — on Robbie. Bruce watched a delicious shudder roll through him, and he rocked his hips against the pole, head thrown back and eyes shut to let the sound of Bruce’s voice wash over him.

"Doesn’t look that way to me, mister.  Looks like you could be an  _awfully_  bad boy.”

Bruce licked his lips and grabbed his crotch again. “Why don’t you come over here and see?”

"That’ll cost you extra," Dick said, but dismounted anyway, and came towards him with a slow, rolling gait. The sway of his hips was more obscene than the low hang of his jeans, the flush darkening his skin — almost more obscene than the bulge of his erection against his fly. It was a promise, and one that made Bruce’s cock twitch.

Dick swung a leg over his lap and leaned so close Bruce could feel the heat coming off him, and Bruce brought his hands up to hook in his belt loops and pull him down — but had them slapped away before he could get a grip.

"Tsk, tsk, naughty boy," Dick said, sliding his tongue along his upper lip. "No touching."

"Mmhh, Robbie, I don’t think you really mean that," Bruce said, low and silky, his warm breath ghosting over Dick’s skin.

Dick laughed, and brushed his palms up Bruce’s still-clothed chest. “Them’s the rules, mister. Can’t have you taking advantage.”

Wrapping his hands over Bruce’s shoulders, he allowed himself to admire the muscled, broad chest beneath him. When his eyes roved upwards, he found Bruce intently watching him — not that he’d needed to look to feel those dark blue eyes focused entirely on him.

Dick shifted his fingers down to his belt, slowly beginning to loosen it, prolonging the task with gratuitous grinding and moaning. If anything that had Bruce’s hips stuttering like  _that_  could be called gratuitous, anyway.

"Need help?" Bruce’s voice was husky, deepening into a register that made Dick moan even more.

"So gallant, Mr. Wayne," Dick rasped out, folding one of Bruce’s hands to wrap over his buckle, and having the man pull his belt out its loops shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. Dick almost didn’t want to slap his hand away after.

"No touching, babe," he warned, before continuing with his dance; rotating his hips in a neat little circle even as he threw his head back to bare his throat and the sleek bow tie and collar encircling it. Bruce couldn’t touch him, but Dick could certainly touch Bruce, and he took full advantage of that.  All of it was just teasing, fingers roaming over hard muscle and tracing the shapes of scars beneath Bruce’s tight shirt, but from the clipped sounds Bruce was making and his rough breathing, Dick might as well have had his hands in the big man’s pants.  He slid his palms over his shoulders again, cuffs brushing Bruce’s neck, rolling his hips over Bruce’s lap without touching, wondering how long he could get away with it.  

Not long, it seemed.  Something brushed his ass, and he glanced back down, ready to berate Bruce again — but then he saw the green bill neatly tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, and he laughed.

"Tips for touches, huh?" He shook his butt, knowing just how it looked to Bruce. "Well, you gotta gimme more than five bucks if you wanna get anywhere, big fella."

He shimmied off Bruce’s lap, bending backwards to shift into an easy flip that returned him to the pole.

Bruce made a noise of dismay at the loss, but quickly covered it up with his most charming smile.  It was pretty effective, Dick had to admit — he was almost floored by the raw desire in his hooded eyes and the sly quirk of his normally serious mouth.  

“Come on, Robbie,” Bruce said, thumbing his billfold.  “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

Dick laughed and leaned back at the hips to throw Bruce a glance, entirely supported by his strong thighs locked around the pole.  “That’s what you get, handsome.  But don’t worry — I’m not done with you yet.”

Bruce wasn’t sure how much more he could take.  His patience was stretched to the breaking point — he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this turned on just  _watching_.  Every twist of Dick’s body sent an answering surge of blood southward, and the  _sounds_ the younger man was making — the sounds, and the expression of want on his beautiful face.  Bruce knew at this point they’d never make it to fucking.  Not on the first round, anyway.  Just frantic rutting against Dick’s perfect ass, maybe with Dick still clinging to the pole, and he could even leave his jeans on if he wanted to be stubborn about it —

But now Dick was reaching for the top button of said jeans, fingers tracing his trapped cock, and Bruce’s brain fuzzed out for half a second, losing the fantasy he’d been building in favor of the one standing right in front of him.

Dick laughed, sweet and breathless, and raised his hands above his head to caress the pole.  “Worth more than a five?”

Bruce couldn’t even say anything, just a low, heated growl that conveyed everything Dick needed to know.  His man had a limit, and he didn’t want to spoil the best part.

He went back to work on his jeans, not so much taking them off as using them to tease himself, sliding his hands under the tight denim and moaning until he heard another insistent noise from his boyfriend still miraculously seated.  Dick finally reached for his zipper, tugging it down, revealing an unmistakable flash of green.

His gaze flickered over to Bruce, finding that the older man’s eyes had widened, his large hands now tightly gripping the armrests of his chair. With a choked “ _Robbie_ —”, he made to get up, sending a thrill of excitement down Dick’s spine as he imagined what would follow —

"Who the hell is  _Robbie_?”

Dick nearly fell off the pole, catching himself with one hand and yanking his jeans back up at lightning speed with the other.  He shot a panicked look towards the stairs, then back at Bruce — who was frozen in his chair, trying and failing to compose himself.  Before either of them could do anything to cover up the situation, Tim poked his head around a stack of crates, and immediately regretted it.

“Uh.  There’s… birthday cake upstairs,” Tim said, lashing out with his foot at someone behind him.  Damian’s offended yelp made Bruce look like he’d just swallowed a bug — or a handful of them.  There was the sound of a scuffle back behind the crates and muffled cursing from Jason.  Dick cringed and scrambled for a way to make this look any less awkward than it clearly was.

“Sure, Tim,” he said, forcing a smile.  “Thanks.  We’ll be right up.”

“I  _demand_  to speak to Father!” Damian piped up, and from the sound of it he was making a pretty good escape attempt.  Tim shot a look over his shoulder, then back at Dick, torn between amusement and horror.

“The  _Bat-pole_ , Dick?   _Really_?”

Before Dick could say anything in his defense, Tim vanished, no doubt helping Jason wrestle Damian back upstairs.  After a few minutes of struggle, Dick and Bruce still too mortified to do anything but listen, the Cave went deathly silent for a second, and then,

“Oh,  _gross_!”

Damian was probably the first one upstairs after that.  

————

Bruce and Dick hadn’t dared to linger in the Cave after that, and upon composing themselves, had returned to the Manor and Alfred’s knowing looks. (Tim, Jason, and Damian, on the other hand, had refused to meet either of their eyes’ the whole afternoon, evening, and night.)

It was hours later before Bruce and Dick found themselves alone in the Cave again, after a long patrol of Gotham’s streets. Even so, Dick didn’t have thoughts of resuming his strip-tease — Damian hadn’t returned home from his team-up with Batgirl, and Alfred was still due to come down to help clear up for the night.

Which was why it surprised him when Bruce came up behind him as he exited the showers, and kissed the back of his neck. Not that Dick minded, but —

"Bruce?" Dick tilted his head back to look up at his partner, bemused.

Bruce was gazing down at him intently, and the heat in his piercing blue eyes made Dick's breath hitch. "You never did finish your present," the older man murmured.

"Um," Dick said. One of his more articulate moments, but words were difficult when Bruce was staring at him all dark and sexy. "Not sure that’s the best idea, all things considered…"

Bruce’s mouth turned up very slightly. “I do have a large bedroom upstairs that might better suit.” He held up something in his hand, and Dick’s eyes widened as he realised it was his discarded collar and cuffs from earlier.

But he recovered quickly, because Dick Grayson was nothing if not a good improviser. Meeting Bruce’s slight smile with one of his own, he entwined Bruce’s hand in his and he pulled them both towards the Cave stairs. Stealing a quick kiss, he pressed his mouth to Bruce’s ear.

"Well, birthday boy, I hope you’ve got more than a fiver on you this time."

Bruce smirked and ran a hand down Dick’s back, pulling him close.  “Robbie, you have  _no_  idea.”

No one in the manor tried to offer them cake for  _quite_  some time after that.


End file.
